


The Winter Gift

by earthspirits



Series: The Travels of Mad Sweeney & Laura Moon [4]
Category: American Gods (TV), American Gods - Neil Gaiman, Penny Dreadful (TV), penny dreadful - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergenc, Angst, Celtic Myth - Freeform, Christmas, Emotional hurt / comfort, F/M, Friendship, Healing, Horror, Medieval Ireland, New Parents, Original Characters - Freeform, Original Female Character - Freeform, Penny Dreadful Christmas, Protectiveness, Reincarnation, Sexual Situations, Soulmates, Sweeney x Laura, The Celts, True Love, Vampires, Vanessa Ives x Ethan Chandler, Victorian, Werewolf, Winter, Winter Solstice, Yule, consensual romance, consensual sexual situations, laura moon / mad sweeney, mad sweeney (american gods) - Freeform, mad sweeney x laura moon, madwife, new mother, new year's, references to Dracula, star-crossed lovers, true love marriage, victorian london
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:34:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21927529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earthspirits/pseuds/earthspirits
Summary: An American Gods / Penny Dreadful cross-over.Swept through a powerful energy vortex, Sweeney and Laura Moon have been transported to the past. In the great metropolis of Victorian London they will encounter unexpected dangers, and make new friends and allies. And here too, in a season of hope, they will discover that true love is the strongest force in any world or era.Please Note: "The Winter Gift" is #4 in my AU Sweeney and Laura series. It's also #6 in my Penny Dreadful series, and the sequel to "Of Wings Shining in Darkness". All of the Sweeney and Laura stories are connected, and designed to be read in order, as are the Penny Dreadful tales.
Relationships: Mad Sweeney / Laura McCabe Moon, Mad Sweeney / Laura Moon, Mad Sweeney / Original Female Character, Vanessa Ives / Ethan Chandler
Series: The Travels of Mad Sweeney & Laura Moon [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1341208
Comments: 10
Kudos: 17





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILERS: Contains S3 spoilers for Penny Dreadful and S1 and S2 spoilers for American Gods.
> 
> RATINGS / WARNINGS: Mature 18+ - This chapter features horror and some gore / violence + some strong language. May possibly be triggering.

It was starting to snow. Laura Moon shivered with the sudden chill, staring in amazement at the white flakes dancing overhead. Only a short while before the two of them had been desperately fighting for their lives on the strangest of spring evenings, and now it was the depths of winter. And they were here – wherever _here_ was. A city obviously, but certainly not one she was familiar with. The citizens that were about were all dressed strangely, in old-fashioned clothing that reminded her of the costumes she'd seen in period films. After she and Sweeney had emerged from the alley, they’d walked for an hour or so, making their way through a winding labyrinth of narrow streets, all paved with cobblestones. This latest neighborhood was residential, lined on either side with terrace houses that had seen better days. A few doors sported what appeared to be Christmas wreaths. At the very end of the road she could see a high iron fence and gate, beyond which loomed a brick mansion. A few golden lights glimmered in its windows, bright against the growing darkness.

Laura stole a glance at Sweeney. He was trying not to lean too heavily on her shoulder, but having a tough time of it. His face and torn jacket were splattered with blood, the skin beneath his auburn beard as pallid as the snow drifting around them. She knew she looked no better. No wonder people were giving them funny stares and a wide berth. “Are you okay?” she asked softly.

“Good as can be expected, lass,” was the reply. Sweeney attempted a smile, but it soon turned into a grimace of pain. 

“We still haven’t found a doctor, and no one we’ve talked to has been any fucking help.” 

“Aye,” he agreed. “That they haven’t.” Rather vaguely, he gestured at the few people in sight. “Perhaps one of these folks would be kind enough to point us in the right direction?” 

Laura nodded. Privately she had her doubts as to any of them being in the least bit helpful or kind, but they had to keep trying. Raising her voice, she called out to the nearest person. “Hello there – Can you please help us? We need a doctor.” 

The middle-aged woman thus hailed was struggling to hold onto a heavy wicker market basket, while inserting a key into her front door. Startled, she glanced over her shoulder. As she spied the strange couple limping towards her, she gave a strangled cry, quickly tore open the door, and darting inside, slammed it shut behind her.

Perplexed, Sweeney watched the other people on the street scurry away. In minutes, they had all disappeared into their respective domiciles. Were they frightened of him and Laura? Or was it something else? A shiver ran down his spine. He glanced around, his gaze finally settling on the mansion at the end of the road. Someone lingered in front of its high gate, taking care to avoid the light spilling from the building’s windows. The man’s top hat was tilted low over his face, hiding his features, his form blending into the night. There was something decidedly unnatural about him, but Sweeney couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He felt his hackles rise. “Laura,” he said quietly. “Be on your guard.” He thrust his chin towards the shadowy figure ahead. “If I’m not mistaken, that one’s trouble.” 

Frowning, Laura strained to see through the falling snow. To her shock, the man seemed to just materialize only a few yards away from her. How the hell had he moved that fast? He tipped his hat and smirked at her. His eyes glowed in the darkness, opalescent as an animal’s. For a long moment he just stared at her, with an intensity she found unnerving. 

Suddenly he lunged towards them, moving with uncanny speed. Laura cursed, as the man crashed full into Sweeney’s chest, knocking him completely off his feet. Weakened from blood loss and the injuries he’d sustained in their recent battle with the Old Ones, the Irishman sprawled in the snow, groaning in agony. Their adversary kicked him viciously in the side, and with a snarl, turned towards her. Long yellowed nails dug painfully into her shoulder as he yanked her upward, effortlessly holding her struggling body with one hand, while her feet dangled several inches above the ground. Horrified, she stared into glittering crimson eyes and a maw filled with jagged fangs. 

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Sweeney lurched upright, and took a wild swing. His fist connected with the attacker’s skull, and he struck again and again, until his knuckles were raw and bleeding. Massive blows that should have felled, or even killed the fellow - who simply ignored it all, his focus entirely concentrated on Laura. Serpent like, he unhinged his lower jaw, opening his mouth grotesquely wide. Squirming in his grasp, Laura kicked him several times in the shins, but she might as well have been hitting a piece of marble, for all the good it did. With an obscene chuckle, he pulled her closer, forcing her head back until her throat was totally exposed. As his razor sharp fangs pierced her flesh, she began to scream.

“Let her go!” Sweeney yelled. Heart pounding, he wrapped his arms around Laura’s waist and pulled, attempting to wrest her from the other’s iron grip. Stubbornly the nosferatu held onto his prey. He lifted his face and glared, blood dripping redly down his chin. With a sneer, he backhanded the Irishman, once again slamming him to the ground. 

Laura hung limply in the monster’s grasp, blood streaming from two ragged puncture wounds in her neck. She’d lapsed into unconsciousness. Her eyes were closed, skin blanched, but Sweeney was relieved to see she was still breathing, although feebly. Mindful of his broken ribs, he struggled to his feet, panting slightly from the pain and exertion. He took a desperate step forward, then abruptly stopped, as from behind, came the distinctive click of a gun being cocked. A low voice hissed in his ear. “ _Keep back._ ” 

From the corner of his eye, Sweeney caught a flash of black skirts, and a beautiful woman stepped into view. Her long dark hair, sparkling with snow crystals, was pulled back from a pale fine-featured face. She wore a gray overcoat, with an emerald green scarf wound tightly around her neck. Frowning, she pressed the barrel of a Colt .45 revolver against the back of the vampire’s head. “Drop her," she ordered, the words crisp and cold as winter.

“You’re no longer the Scorpion Queen,” the nosferatu replied. “Why should I obey you?” But he remained motionless, although he still held Laura uncomfortably close. Anxiously Sweeney eyed this strange tableau. Perhaps he could free his lover while the monster was distracted? Quietly, he edged forward.

The woman laughed. It wasn’t a pretty sound. “Because if you don’t, I’ll happily blow your damned head off. Unlike your master, silver _will_ kill you. Now - let her go.” 

The vampire was silent, considering his options. “But you’ll kill me, no matter what I do,” he finally said. Slowly he turned and faced her, dragging Laura with him. “Which gives me absolutely no incentive to cooperate.” He licked blood from his lips. “If I’m to die the final death, I might as well enjoy a last meal.” 

“Then you sign your own death warrant,” she declared. “And while it’s true that eventually we’ll track you down and exterminate you – for tonight, I promise not to kill you. But only if you release the girl unharmed.”

“Very well.” With an audible sigh, the vampire unceremoniously dumped Laura into the snow. Sweeney darted to her side, and swiftly gathered her in a protective embrace. Pulling a faded handkerchief from his jacket pocket, he used it to stanch her wounds. 

The woman lowered her pistol, taking care to keep a safe distance between herself and the vampire. As he rose, his mouth twitched in a ghastly parody of a smile. “It’s been awhile, Your Majesty.” This last hurled as a taunt. His eyes roved up and down her trim figure, lingering briefly on her belly. “I hear you've recently given birth. Let me offer my congratulations." His expression was anything but cordial. "The werewolf’s spawn, I presume?”

“Don’t tempt me to break my promise.” Her finger tightened on the trigger. “You’d best go while you still can.”

“I know what you are,” Sweeney growled. “Dearg-dul (red blood sucker) – the bane of my homeland in the old days. We drove your kind out with fire and stakes made of the sacred rowan tree. Our druid priests piled cairns of heavy stones atop your graves, sealing you away forever with holly and prayers.”

“Indeed? How very quaint.” Almost as tall as Sweeney, he appeared to be in his early twenties (although it was difficult to assess a nosferatu's true age). Horribly emaciated, he might have once been handsome. “It’s been a pleasure.” Courteously, he tipped his hat, his eyes fastened on the still unconscious Laura. “I’m sure we’ll meet again.”

“The next time will be your last,” Sweeney warned.

“Or perhaps it will be yours,” the vampire replied, his tone careless. And with that – he was gone. Disappeared back into the night.

Ignoring the discomfort of his injuries, Sweeney gently swung Laura up in his arms, cradling her close to his broad chest. “Ní mór dúinn leighis a fháil duit, agus fothain, mo stór,” he murmured. (We must find you a healer and shelter, my darling). For so long she had been immune to all danger, but now that the curse of the undead had lifted, his fierce little beloved was as vulnerable as the rest of humanity. And in his weakened state, he’d been unable to protect her. He wouldn’t allow that to happen again. With this vow, he felt a surge of his natural strength return. He pressed a kiss to Laura’s forehead.

The woman pocketed her weapon. “I think it'd be wise for the two of you to come home with me. The night is freezing, and as you can see, far from safe. We live there.” She pointed at the mansion, its lights shining like a beacon through the veil of snow. “Besides, you’re both obviously in need of a physician’s care – fortunately we have one in residence.”

"Thank you - for the rescue, and your invitation, which we gladly accept.” As they made their way down the street, Sweeney gazed curiously at their benefactor. She was clad in late Victorian style, as was everyone else he had seen in this place. Somehow, the vortex must have hurled them back through time, and through space. “May I ask what city this is?” - although he had his suspicions.

“London,” the woman answered. Her expression was puzzled. “Did you not know?”

“I wasn’t sure. And – what year?”

She gave him another searching look. “1897.”

“Ah – I see.” There was a faint groan. He glanced down, and to his immense relief, saw that Laura was reviving. Her eyes fluttered open, although she seemed disoriented. “I feel so…woozy.” 

“You’re safe now, mo chroí (my heart),” he said soothingly. “You’ve had a nasty shock. Just try to relax – we’ll be with a doctor shortly.”

Shuddering with cold, Laura closed her eyes and burrowed deeper into Sweeney’s warmth. “Okay,” she muttered. “But what the hell was that – _thing_ – that attacked us?”

“A vampire,” the other woman explained. “And you’re feeling weak due to blood loss. But don’t worry, Victor will soon have you right as rain.”

The weary Laura could only nod. She felt so tired, so damned tired. Slowly, her eyes closed. But this time it was a natural sleep.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t know your name. And of course, I neglected to mention ours. That was remiss of me.” He flashed a sheepish grin. “I’m Sweeney – and this is Laura.” 

“Vanessa Ives Chandler – Pleased to meet you both.” Her smile was as warm and friendly as her vivid blue eyes. “I wish it had been under more pleasant circumstances, but sometimes fate dictates otherwise.” 

“That often seems to be the case. ‘Twas fortunate you were nearby.”

“Oh, I was monitoring that one. He’s been lurking outside our home for a few nights, spying on us. When I glanced out the window, I saw him attack you, so I sprang into action.” 

For several moments, the two walked in companionable silence. Sweeney held Laura close, her head resting against his heart. As he limped along, he constantly scanned the area for potential threats. If there was one Dearg-dul in the vicinity, there were bound to be others. “Is vampirism rare hereabouts?” he asked.

“Unfortunately, no.” A frown creased her brow. “Last December, we thought most of them had perished, along with their master – but it seems we were wrong. It’s a constant battle to keep them from re-infesting the city.”

The big Irishman sighed. He and Laura had escaped the Old Ones, only to fall into the clutches of the Dearg-dul. But now that he knew what they were dealing with, he could take proper precautions. And then there was Vanessa - a strong and capable woman who'd shown compassion for two strangers in need. Thankful to have found such an ally, he was also relieved that they were finally heading to safe haven. The odds for their survival were definitely improving. Shifting Laura's position in his arms to make her more comfortable, he kissed her again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of a horrific vampire attack, Sweeney and Laura are granted safe haven by Vanessa Ives and her family. That night, an exhausted Laura experiences another haunting dream - one that raises puzzling questions she may fear to answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPOILERS: Contains S3 spoilers for Penny Dreadful and S1 and S2 spoilers for American Gods.
> 
> RATINGS / WARNINGS: Mature 18+. This chapter contains strong language.

Sweeney kneeled beside Laura, enjoying the warmth of the fire. He held a bowl of steaming vegetable broth in one hand, a spoon in the other. His wounds had been treated and cleansed, and his ribs wrapped. He wore a clean shirt and trousers that belonged to Ethan Chandler. Laura, ensconced in a velvet armchair, was swathed in blankets, and one of Vanessa’s nightgowns, a bandage on her neck. A wash of healthy pink stained her cheeks. “More broth?” he asked.

“Yes, please.”

The corners of Sweeney's mouth quirked in that endearing little smile Laura adored. He brought the spoon to her lips, and she swallowed the broth, spilling some of it down her chin. “I’m such a fucking slob,” she lamented. He laughed softly and wiped the broth off with a linen napkin. Carefully he fed her the rest, and after placing the empty bowl and spoon on the parlor’s carpeted floor, took her hands in his. “Feeling better, mo chroí (my heart)?”

She nodded. “Like a new woman.” 

From his perch beside the hearth, Victor Frankenstein gazed curiously at his new patient and her companion, pleased that she was already on the mend. One never knew with a vampire bite. Thank God that Vanessa had frightened the creature away in time. They were a rather odd pair, but clearly devoted to one another – the tall burly Irishman and the petite young woman, who seemed scarcely larger than a child – an American, judging by her accent. And they had been dressed so strangely too. There was definitely a mystery here. His expression thoughtful, he took another bite of his cucumber sandwich, and glanced about the room. It was a peaceful scene, but with a palpable undercurrent of tension. Holly and fragrant evergreen boughs had been artfully arranged on the mantle, and atop the upright piano in the corner. A large fir tree stood before the front window. Candles glimmered like golden fireflies on its branches, which were decorated with strings of dried cranberries. Here and there shone the treasured glass baubles that Sir Malcolm had long ago brought home from Germany. A silver star crowned the top, and the gilt paper ornaments Vanessa had recently made glittered amongst the greenery. It was all quite charming, he thought, the cheerful glow of the tree a talisman against the wintry darkness. 

Nonetheless, the scientist was glad of the protective spells Kaetenay had cast over their home. The shaman was out this evening, patrolling the city with Sir Malcolm and Ethan. Even for such formidable men, venturing out after dark was a risky proposition, but the on-going threat of the nosferatu could not be ignored. Alarmed by this latest vampire attack, John Clare had immediately fetched his rifle, and then inspected the house and grounds, checking to make sure the wards were intact. Positioned now by the window, with the tree partly shielding him from view, he kept his sharp eyes trained on the street below.

Victor’s gaze finally settled on Vanessa. She sat on the divan, facing the fire. Nearby stood a rosewood side table that held a china tea set and plate of sandwiches. She set down her cup, glancing nervously at the clock on the mantle, obviously worried about Ethan and the others. In her lap, she cradled Laurence, her three-month-old son. As she bent over him, her expression softened, infinitely tender. The scientist gave Vanessa a reassuring smile, and walked towards her. "Please don't worry," he said. "They'll be home soon." Or at least he hoped so. He reached for the teapot. As he poured tea into one of the delicate cups, the flowery scent of Vanessa's herbal mixture rose. Raising the cup to his lips, he peered over its rim at Sweeney and Laura. The young woman's eyes met his, her face unreadable.

After a moment, Laura broke eye contact, and slumped deeper into her chair. The scientist was curious about her and Sweeney, and she couldn't blame him. But how to explain the unexplainable? She wasn't even sure _she_ really understood what had transpired. 

Suddenly, a distant door slammed. There was the sound of male voices and booted feet, and three men entered the parlor. Laura stared at them. The youngest was very tall, and clad in a dark leather duster. As he strode past, he glanced briefly her way. His companions - a silver-haired Native American, and a bearded man with piercing green eyes - stared more intently as they made their way across the room. They greeted Victor Frankenstein and Vanessa, and then joined John Clare at the window. As they conversed with him in low tones, they peered grimly down at the street. 

The tall young man nodded a friendly hello at Victor, and then halted before Vanessa. "Missed me, darlin'?" he teased. 

"Ethan," she murmured, her smile radiant. As he sat beside her, they kissed. Ethan curled an arm around Vanessa's waist, and smiled at their child. Carefully, he took one of Laurence's tiny hands in his large one. "How's my boy? Have you been behaving yourself for your mama?" Cooing, the baby grinned toothlessly at his proud father.

Vanessa chuckled. "Well, he's been fed, so he's quiet - at least for a little while." She gestured at the teapot. "Tea?" 

"That depends," he drawled. "I don't suppose that concoction contains any brandy?" She shook her head, trying unsuccessfully to hide her amusement. As Vanessa poured the tea, Ethan gazed at the two strangers seated by the hearth. "Who are they?" he asked quietly. "They look like they've been through hell.”

"They have," Victor declared. He set his cup on the rosewood table. "Vampire attack."

Ethan's eyes narrowed. "Near here?" 

"Yes," Vanessa confirmed, keeping her voice low. "The attack happened down the street." She handed Ethan a cup. "I don’t know much about them. Just their names, and that they haven't been in the city long. They told me this is their first visit here."

"Hell of a welcome."

"Indeed. At any rate, I managed to scare the vampire off. Our new friends were both badly wounded, so I invited them home." With a bright smile, she turned towards their guests. “Sweeney, Laura - This is my husband Ethan. The two gentlemen over there with John are my father, Sir Malcolm Murray, and our dear friend, Kaetenay."

The gentlemen in question ignored the introductions, their attention still focused on the street. Outside, the wind howled, and a swirl of snow could be seen through the window. 

"Hello," Ethan called out. He cradled his cup, letting it warm his hands. Tentatively, he took a sip.

Laura, who had been shamelessly attempting to eavesdrop, gave Ethan a little wave. Beside her, she felt Sweeney stir. Rather unsteadily, he staggered to his feet. "What are you doing?" she whispered. He just shook his head, and with some difficulty, walked the short distance to where the Chandlers were seated. He stood before the divan, gazing solemnly down at them, swaying slightly back and forth. "Vanessa," he said softly. "If it wasn't for your bravery, we might have died tonight. Should the two of you and your wee lad ever need anything at all, you've but to ask."

"That's very kind of you," Vanessa replied, cuddling Laurence close. "I'm just glad I could help." As Sweeney continued to sway, she added, "Are you all right?"

Alarmed, Ethan jumped up, catching the Irishman before he could fall. He cast a worried glance at Victor, who quickly stepped forward to help brace Sweeney's other side. "What's wrong?" the doctor asked. "Is it your ribs?

Sweeney's lips were pressed tight, as he gave a curt nod. "I feel a bit punch-drunk too."

"Not surprising, considering what you've been through. It's best to move as little as possible, at least for tonight and through tomorrow. What you really need is sleep. It's nature's best healer."

"Look, I appreciate you patching me up, but there's no time to rest. Not with that creature still roaming about. I should be out there now, hunting him."

Victor sighed. "I can't force you, but as your physician, I strongly suggest you heed my advice, and get some rest."

"Damn it, Sweeney, why are you suddenly so gung-ho?" Laura cried. "For God's sake, listen to the doctor. You're in no condition to go anywhere. And what the hell happened to safe haven? Is it only for me? I don't want you going out there on your own. How do you think I'd feel if something happened to you?" He didn't answer, but as his eyes met hers, his anguished expression spoke volumes. 

"She's right," Ethan put in. "Give it a few days. When you're ready, we'll help you track the bastard down."

"What if it breaks in and attacks Laura again? We can't take the risk..."

"Enough!" a deep voice suddenly rang out. Everyone turned and stared at Sir Malcolm. "Never fear, young man, we _will_ run the vampire to ground - but not tonight. It's still snowing, with no signs of letting up. You won't get far in that. It would be sheer madness to try." His tone, while reasonable, held an underlying note of steel that brooked no opposition. "Besides, we're quite safe here. The house and grounds are warded against attack - supernatural or otherwise."

Sweeney glared at him for a moment, then finally shook his head in defeat. "Very well, but as soon as I'm fit enough, I go after the Dearg-dul." His attention shifted to Laura. "Happy now, lass?"

"Happy as happy can be," she answered, with a touch of her old tartness. Sweeney was so damned stubborn. Perhaps that came of having been a demigod for so long. Relieved, she watched him decline Ethan and Victor's help, and limp doggedly back on his own. His face was still too pale, shadowed by an assortment of angry-looking bruises and cuts. As he gingerly lowered himself into the chair next to hers, still favoring his broken ribs, Laura reached out, and took his hand. There was a bandage wrapped neatly around the knuckles, and some of his blood had seeped through. He smiled crookedly, and gave her fingers a gentle little squeeze. With a ragged sigh, he stretched out his long legs towards the fire. Slowly, the cozy warmth of the room enveloped them. The only sounds were the background murmur of the others' voices, and the ticking of the mantle clock. Laura's eyelids drooped. Drifting off to sleep, she heard the shimmering refrain of a harp, its gentle notes beckoning her to follow.

  
_****_

Medieval Ireland - 6th Century

Laughing, Ciara shook snow off her cloak, and directed the guards and her ladies-in-waiting to set their wicker baskets of greenery on the floor of the castle’s great hall. Her cheeks were rosy from the cold. Glancing across the room, she spied her husband, seated by the immense stone hearth. Firelight cast a golden glow across his rugged features, his shoulder-length hair bright against the shadows of late afternoon. He ran his fingers lightly across the strings of his harp, the melody he invoked a sweet welcome for his queen. Setting the instrument aside, Suibhne mac Colmain rose, and moved to her side. With a playful smile, he took the laden basket from her, and plucking a mistletoe sprig from its depths, inserted it into her hair. The waxy berries shone like pearls against the dark tresses. “Did you have fun, mo chroí (my heart)?” he asked, leaning in for a kiss.

“Aye, and what bounty we found!” She dipped into the basket, drawing forth a holly branch, still dusted with snow. “Lovely, is it not? As you can see, the forest was most generous.” 

“Tis lovely, Ciara,” he agreed. “Although not as lovely as you.” Another kiss, and he divested her of her cloak. Beneath, she wore a gown of fine emerald wool, embroidered at the bodice with a design of silver wildflowers. His fingers brushed hers. “Your hands are like ice! We must warm you.” With her cloak over one arm, he gestured with the basket at the nearest of Ciara's ladies. “Breanne, please take these, then fetch a cup of mulled wine for Her Majesty.”

The young woman nodded as she took the items from her liege, and then scurried from the room.

It was their first winter solstice together, and Ciara was anxious that everything be perfect. Oh, there was so much to do! Although she had a bevy of devoted servants to assist her, there were certain tasks she had reserved for herself. The foremost of these was baking the Solstice cake and over-seeing the decoration of the hall. Suibhne had his own duties for the festival, although he assured her that if she needed anything, she had but to ask.

Seated on a low bench before the fire, Ciara took another sip of wine. It was hot and deliciously spicy. She hadn’t realized how chilled she was until she’d swallowed the drink, and felt its warming glow spread throughout her body. For a few minutes, she watched Suibhne and the guards hang the larger boughs on the walls. As they attached the greenery to iron hooks, looping it in graceful curves, three of Ciara’s ladies fastened scarlet ribbons to the branches, while the others worked at the enormous oak table in the center of the room. Several young nobles had also joined the fun. Nimble fingers twined lengths of holly, mistletoe, and fir into the kissing balls that would be suspended above doorways throughout the castle. 

Draining the last of the wine, the queen finally stood and made her way to the table. Rummaging through the neatly stacked piles of evergreens, she pulled out mistletoe and pine, and carefully began to thread them with holly. One of the prickly leaves bit her finger, and a drop of blood, red as a holly berry, dripped from the tiny wound. Frowning at the sudden sharp pain, she thought she heard someone sigh. It sounded quite close. Her skin rose in goosebumps, as she sensed this person staring at her, with decidedly hostile intentions. Who could that possibly be? She glanced around, but everyone was busy. With a shrug, she returned to her own task. A few of the court’s musicians had arrived, and now a spritely tune on flute and harp rang merrily through the hall, along with excited chatter and laughter. Serving girls darted here and there, with cups of cider and platters of freshly baked bread. Ciara hummed along to the music, every so often directing a fond glance at her husband. From his perch atop a high wooden ladder, the king adjusted another branch, and as his eyes met hers, he winked.

  
_****_

Laura suddenly woke, to find herself in bed, buried beneath a pile of thick eiderdowns, with Sweeney snoring away beside her. One brawny arm had been slung over her middle. After she fell asleep, he must have carried her up here. Snuggling against the warmth of his big body, she thought what a bizarre and frightening night it had been. Thanks to the kindness of Vanessa and her family, they were safe – at least for now. The bedchamber was dark, lit only by moonlight shining faintly through the window. In its silvery gleam, she could just make out her lover's face, peaceful in slumber. Gently, she kissed his cheek. She thought of the dream – of another Sweeney and Laura – different, but yet the same. Unlike other dreams, the memory of this one didn’t fade. Some profound meaning hovered just out of reach, accompanied by a feeling of intense fear - she couldn’t quite wrap her head around it. As she closed her eyes, she could still see that festive scene, still hear the music, and the joyous laughter. And beneath it all, she heard again that strange little sigh. It held a note of fervid longing. Why did this inconsequential sound fill her with such dread?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Obviously Penny Dreadful and American Gods, and their various characters, as well as the characters of classic horror literature / film, belong to their respective creators / writers / networks, etc. I'm just a devoted fan playing in their sandbox, and make no profit, etc. Please note that any original characters or concepts I've created belong strictly to me.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPOILERS: Contains S3 spoilers for Penny Dreadful and S1 and S2 spoilers for American Gods.
> 
> WARNINGS: Just a little bit of strong language.

After a restless night, Laura had risen early. Sweeney was still asleep. For a moment, she gazed at him, marveling how peaceful he looked, with his rugged features totally relaxed in slumber. Not wanting to wake him, she quietly dressed in the freshly laundered clothing Vanessa had given her. The lavender cashmere shawl and charcoal wool gown were beautifully made, but unfortunately hung on her petite frame. Beneath that, she wore a voluminous flannel petticoat. Certainly warm, but not a good look, at least on her. With another fond glance at her lover, she crept from the chamber.

In search of sustenance, she eventually made her way to the kitchen. There, she found the Chandlers. They were seated at an enormous pine table, drinking tea. Ethan had his nose buried in the Times, while Laurence watched his parents from his wicker carry basket, his little face peeping curiously out from a nest of blankets. There was a little flour clinging to Ethan’s face and hands. Chuckling, Vanessa took her napkin, and wiped some of it off his chin. 

The room smelt of baking, and something rich and savory that simmered in a cast-iron pot atop the big wood-burning stove. Laura's mouth watered.

“Good morning, Laura,” Vanessa said. “I trust you slept well?”

“Like a baby.” No point in boring her hosts with details about her strange dream.

“How’s Sweeney?” Ethan asked.

“He’s still sleeping – I didn’t want to wake him.”

“Would you like breakfast?” He set his tea down, along with the newspaper. “There’s fresh muffins, and if you like, I can rustle up some scrambled eggs.”

“Thanks, sounds great.” Laura found it interesting that despite living in a mansion, the Chandlers evidently did their own cooking. She’d always heard that these grand old Victorian homes had loads of servants, but she hadn’t noticed any about the place. Perhaps all the residents took turns with the chores?

“Pull up a chair and make yourself comfortable.” As Ethan retrieved eggs from the oak icebox in the corner, Laura took a seat and glanced about. Despite the cozy heat emanating from the stove, the kitchen was rather dismal. The walls were lined with dark walnut, and there was only one window, its sill holding a few small pots of green herbs. The curtain had been thrown back, and she could see it was still snowing. Beneath the window was a porcelain sink full of soapy water and dishes. Coats and winter boots huddled by the back door, and an old silvered mirror hung on the wall opposite the table. 

Frowning, Laura stared at her reflection. I look like hell, she thought. In the dim morning light, her skin was wan, and there were purplish shadows under her eyes. Tucking a stray strand of hair back into her messy bun, she pulled the shawl closer around her shoulders. 

“Morning, everyone.” The newcomer’s voice was soothingly elegant, like dark velvet gliding over silk. In the mirror, Laura’s eyes met a pair of inquisitive golden ones. As John Clare took the chair next to hers, she turned towards him. Clad all in black, his long raven hair was swept back from a scarred face pale as a vampire. He smiled gently and reached for the teapot. As he poured tea into a clean cup, he glanced at her. “Would you like some?” 

Laura nodded and he pushed the cup towards her, then filled another for himself. “Thank you,” she murmured. 

“Milk?” he asked, lifting the creamer. "Sugar?" Laura shook her head. John Clare’s manners were flawless, certainly far better than hers. Watching him pour milk into his tea, she wondered what his story was. 

“You’re up early, John,” Vanessa remarked.

“I wanted to check the wards,” he answered, taking a sip of tea.

“Everything all right?”

He hesitated a moment. “The wards are still in place, but when I checked the back garden, I found that someone had sawed off the lock on the gate.”

Ethan turned from the stove, spatula in hand. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

“An attempt at burglary?” Vanessa mused.

“There were footprints in the snow, just outside the gate, but none leading into the property. Whoever unlocked the gate didn’t attempt to enter.”

Vanessa’s eyes narrowed. “A wise decision on their part. Had they stepped through the gate, they would have received a painful shock from the wards.” 

“Do you think it could have been the vampire who attacked us last night?” Laura asked. She picked at the edge of the cloth bandage on her throat. The bite wounds ached. Feeling slightly queasy, she recalled how the creature had gnawed on her neck, and a shadowy image flickered uneasily at the back of her mind.

“Possibly,” Vanessa replied. 

Laura drank a little of her tea. It was another of Vanessa’s special recipes, tasting of cinnamon and cloves. She shivered as she thought again of the vampire. Best not to dwell on that. “So – where’s everyone this morning?”

“Sir Malcolm and Kaetenay left at the crack of dawn, and Victor went out about an hour ago.”

“Hunting for vampires?” 

Vanessa smiled. “Who knows? I suspect they’re actually Christmas shopping.” 

Amused, the two men laughed. John picked up the paper, and started to read. 

Laura’s expression was thoughtful. She wondered what – if anything – Sweeney would like for Christmas. Did he even celebrate? Likely not – but still, the thought of finding something special for him was strangely appealing.

The back door was suddenly thrown open, and with a blast of cold air, Victor Frankenstein bustled in, his arms full of packages wrapped in brown paper. Calling out a cheery hello, the doctor set his burden down on the floor, and shrugged out of his overcoat. Shaking snow from its heavy wool folds, he hung it and his hat on the little coat rack by the door. He sniffed appreciatively. "Mmmm - That smells delicious. What’s cooking?”

Ethan grinned. “Corn chowder, we’ll have it for lunch. But I warn you, I make it south-western style - spicy, with lots of chilies.” He flipped the eggs, and called over his shoulder to Laura. “Almost ready.”

Victor flung himself into the empty chair on the other side of Laura. “Well, _my_ holiday shopping is finally complete. And just in time too, considering tomorrow is Christmas Eve.” He chose a muffin, and picking up a silver knife, sliced it neatly in two. Slathering one of the halves with butter, he bit off a piece, and turned to Laura. “Hello,” he mumbled through a full mouth. 

“Hello, Doctor,” Laura replied. She looked up as Ethan appeared at her side, and smiled as he tilted the eggs onto her plate. They were perfectly cooked, creamy and dotted with little bits of rosemary and thyme. “Thank you, Ethan.” She picked up a fork and dipped it into the hot mixture. As she took a cautious bite, she felt Victor accessing her.

“How are you this morning?” he asked. 

“Okay, I guess.” She stared down at her plate. She knew the doctor and the others were curious about her and Sweeney, but the two of them were still unsure just how much of the truth they should share. Sweeney feared that revealing too much might affect the timeline. But lying to these kindly people, even if only by omission, was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. 

“And Sweeney?”

She ate some more egg. “Better, I think. He’s still asleep.”

“Good,” Victor said. “I’m glad he’s getting some rest. But when he awakens, please encourage him to eat something. He refused everything last night but a little broth.”

“Of course." She turned to Vanessa. "If it's all right, I'd like to fix a tray to take up to him."

“Our kitchen is yours," Vanessa said graciously. "Help yourself to whatever you want."

"Is there any coffee?"

"Over there.” Vanessa pointed to a shelf by the kitchen’s inner door. Among the neatly stacked tins of food was a sack of coffee beans and an old fashioned hand grinder. “This afternoon I plan to do a little shopping, then call on friends. Would you care to come along?”

“The fresh air would do you good,” Victor put in.

Laura leaned her chin on one hand, considering. She wondered who the friends were. Vampire hunters like Vanessa and her family? At any rate, it would be interesting to check out the local shops. Perhaps she might even find a gift for Sweeney. Her eyes sparkled. “I'd love to."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Obviously Penny Dreadful and American Gods, and their various characters, as well as the characters of classic horror literature / film, belong to their respective creators / writers / networks, etc. I'm just a devoted fan playing in their sandbox, and make no profit, etc. Please note that any original characters or concepts I've created belong strictly to me.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Obviously Penny Dreadful and American Gods, and their various characters, as well as the characters of classic horror literature / film, belong to their respective creators / writers / networks, etc. I'm just a devoted fan playing in their sandbox, and make no profit, etc. Please note that any original characters or concepts I've created belong strictly to me.


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